


The Butterfly Effect

by Liquidation



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Arranged Marriages, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Glenn Fraldarius Lives, Hurt/Comfort, No beta we live like Glenn, One-sided pining, Rare Pairings, Serious Injuries, Star-crossed, There are no Byleth/Glenn tags which is a damn shame, Tragedy of Duscur (Fire Emblem), fix-it goddess damnit, unapologetically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22481014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquidation/pseuds/Liquidation
Summary: “Has he died and is now being dealt the goddess’s wrath? Is this his divine punishment? For what? For putting his king above his own life? For doubting the church even as the familiar verses spill from his lips? For killing in the name of justice and those he swore to protect as a knight? For falling in love with a woman who was not his betrothed?So? Let him burn in a sinner’s hell. He regrets none of it.”The flapping of a butterfly's wings can cause a hurricane on the other side of the world.Glenn Fraldarius is seventeen when the arrival of a band of mercenaries completely shifts his world on its axis.
Relationships: Glenn Fraldarius & My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	The Butterfly Effect

When he wakes, the first thing on his mind is how dry his throat is. It feels as if he swallowed sand and is left choking on the taste of stale air. He wants to claw at his throat, to find a way to quench his nagging thirst, but his body won’t cooperate.   
  


Next he strains to open his eyes. His vision is swimming, as if his brain is still trying to wake even as his instincts are screaming at him to run. 

_ Run? To where? From what? _

_ The ambush in Duscar _

He wants to scream but his throat won’t cooperate. They would only be drowned out anyway as the distant sound of pained moans crescendos when his mind finally starts to catch up with him. There are cries of anguished anger and broken sobs that drift around him, too loud and cacophonic to truly echo but searing a mark into his brain all the same. 

Then comes the smells. The scent of piss and shit are harsh and putrid, but more pronounced and much more ghastly is the overpowering stench of blood, rot, and death. He nearly gags on the smell as he struggles to move again.

Has he died and is now being dealt the goddess’s wrath? Is this his divine punishment? For what? For putting his king above his own life? For doubting the church even as the familiar verses spill from his lips? For killing in the name of justice and those he swore to protect as a knight? For falling in love with a woman who was not his betrothed?

_ So? Let him burn in a sinner’s hell. He regrets none of it.  _

Then comes excruciating pain - enough to force him to double over and open up his throat to scream. His voice is gravel to his ears but it’s the only anchor he has.

That is until he feels a gentle hand card through his hair. It slides down his cheek and trails to the back of his neck as they help support him into a sitting position. He’s leaning on them to even stay upright as they press a flagon to his lips. He resists at first, despite his thirst, not knowing if this is friend or foe.

“Drink, Glenn,” she instructs, orders, pleads. He doesn’t know. He was always unsure of her intentions with her voice rarely ever raising inflection or inspiring emotion.

_ No. The only time he had ever seen her properly emote was when they spotted each other from across the battlefield as the enemy loomed over him. He was sure it would be the last time he ever saw her, and in that moment, he felt a wave of calm even as alarm filled her widening eyes. Time seemed to slow then, as he purposefully took in her features one by one - her unruly blue hair blowing in the wind, the trickle of blood carving a river down the side of her pale cheek, her resilient yet feminine frame that was caked in dirt and ash befitting of her infamous moniker. She screamed his name with such anguish across the battlefield, just as his- _

He knows he can trust her so he succumbs to his thirst and drinks greedily, eventually choking and sputtering on the water. She gently but firmly pats his back, careful of his injuries. Despite this, his pain flares up again and he tries to locate the source. He forgets the pain for only a split second, overtaken by the initial shock of the bandaged stump.

Oh.

_ She screamed his name with such anguish across the battlefield, just as his sword arm had been ripped off. _

“By. Byleth,” he chokes as he falters and leans on her once more for support.

She holds him then, as tightly as both their injuries will allow. She has a heavily bandaged shoulder and wraps around her more glancing wounds. What’s more are her dark circles and paling countenance. The mercenary looks as if she hasn’t properly slept in days, and he doesn’t doubt for even a second that was the case. 

“Glenn,” she affirms against his hair in that firm but steady tone of hers, and yet, there’s an unusual hesitancy about her. “When I got to you, I thought… I thought you were dead.”

“I thought I was too when I first awoke,” he admits because he trusts her with that knowledge - with that vulnerability. “Perhaps I should’ve. It seems as though I am no longer of use anymore now that I’m no longer whole.”

He can’t help the self-loathing and bitterness from seeping into his tone, but he flinches as Byleth’s eyes harden. Before she can admonish him, the infirmary doors open to reveal his father. He too is worse for wear but faring better than Byleth or himself. His father looks at him, then at Byleth, then at his missing arm wrapped just above where his elbow should be. He may not be pleased with the result of the battle - that much Glenn can see - but there is a small sigh of relief as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

“My son, I am glad to see you awake.”

“How long was I out for?”

“Four days,” Byleth supplies as she hands him a washcloth for his face. He is grateful that she doesn’t assume the task herself as if he were an invalid. 

“We are back in the Kingdom, what’s left of the delegation party at least,” he breathes wearily. He knows how his father is and it only means his father is about to say something he won’t like. “There’s nothing left for you here now. Once you recover, I expect you to return home to Fraldarius territory in order to finish your studies. Since you will no longer be a knight, we must prepare you earlier than expected to assume your future position with House Galatea.”

It is unsaid, but his father dares him to object. He’s sure it didn’t slip his father’s notice how he involuntarily sought out and gripped Byleth’s shoulder for support. His father has already futilely warned him not to grow foolishly attached to her. Of course, Glenn didn’t listen and he was a fool all the same.

_ “I see the way you look at her,” his father says, even as Glenn fixatedly watches her leave the training grounds to prepare for their departure for Duscar. _

_ He tears his eyes away and forces his eyes to the ground because he can’t look his father in the eyes. “I know nothing can come of it.” _

_ They could have just left it at that, but the resentment and blame in his tone was evident and his father was not going to let it lie. “Need I remind you? You are engaged.” _

_ “Arranged marriages are so archaic,” he sneers, his words curdling with internalized disdain with each and every word, “and for what? Crests? Power and keeping the bloodlines ‘ _ pure _?’ Am I nothing more than a breeding horse for you to sell off with Felix following in my footsteps?” _

_ He didn’t need the sting of his father’s slap to know he crossed a line, but he refused to regret his words. “You never fought your engagement until now. Not until you met  _ her.”

_ “So what?” _

_ “You know you can’t pursue her.” _

_ He clenches his fists and looks away once more. “I never planned to.” He never planned to befriend her either, much less fall in love, because as much as he is loathed to admit it, that’s exactly what his fixated admiration became. Now he can’t bring himself to think about a life without her. _

_ “Oh? And when another does? Do you think you can stand by and watch?” When Glenn can’t answer, he continues to egg him on. “She’s a fairly pretty girl with potential for knighthood if she plays her cards right. It won’t be long before she has suitors vying for her attention. Perhaps she’ll marry a commoner or maybe even one of your fellow knights. If she’s lucky, she’ll catch the eye of a lesser noble and be taken in as his wife, or perhaps more befitting of her status, she’ll become a concubine. It would be more than what a mercenary could ask for, sitting in the lap of luxury with the only expectation of opening her legs and having many, many crest babies-“ _

_ “ENOUGH!” Glenn shouts, unable to listen to his father any longer. The implications make his stomach roil and burn with anger.  _

_ The two stew in the silence of the tiltyard, his father’s point being made. Luckily, they don’t have to worry about eavesdroppers while the castle is bustling in preparations for the Duscar delegation.  _

_ “Nothing can come off it,” his father reiterates with finality, “Relationships between nobles and commoners rarely end in happiness. They are doomed to fail. I did not mean to sully her name in an attempt to get through to you-“ _

_ “But you did-“ _

_ “I wish her no ill will and unlike you, she actually has her head on straight. She is very talented and I have no doubt that she will do great things one day, but Glenn, she is not one of us.” _

_ “To hell with titles and nobility!” _

_ “This is much bigger than you, Glenn!” His father finally shouts, “this is for the betterment of our country! So that we may serve and support our king and his heir to our fullest potential. I thought you above anyone else would understand that!” _

_ “I take my job as a knight very seriously,” he sniffed, “But I always went along with the path you set me on because I had nothing else to fight for.” _

_ “And now?” his father asks challengingly, “will you fight for her?” _

_ He elects not to answer as he stalks away from his father, leaving him standing alone in the training grounds to wonder. _

“I don’t plan on returning home,” Glenn lashes out hotly in his cot, “I swore an oath to protect the royal family till my dying breath.”

“The king is dead,” Lord Fraldarius snaps, perhaps more harshly than he intended in his own grief, “all that remains is Prince Dimitri and we must support him now more than ever. The best way you can is to become the future political ally that he needs. You need to do your duty as a son of House Fraldarius “

“I will do my duty by upholding my oath. The royal family has not perished and I  _ will  _ protect Prince Dimitri until my last days as I swore to do before our late king. I refuse to abandon him to fend off the cruelty of the royal court by himself.”

“And how do you expect to protect anyone let alone the last heir of Blaiddyd when you can no longer swing a sword properly anymore? With you by his side, Prince Dimitri would sooner follow King Lambert to an early grave. You are no longer useful as a knight without your sword arm and you are no longer worthy of that position if you couldn’t even protect your own king.”

“Get out!” he shouts, nearly tumbling out of bed in an attempt to stand.

His father merely looks on in both exasperation and pity, much too tired of fighting and grieving to start this battle, so he bows. “As much as you despise your fate, you know that my words are true. I will give you as much time as you need to recover from your injuries, but I expect you home… Your mother and Felix miss you.”

With that parting message, he leaves and Glenn has the urge to throw something, anything at the door, but his useless arm waves at nothing but air. He elects to scream in frustration instead and Byleth gives him the space to do so. He pants heavily, both from the pain and frustration. Only then does Byleth place a comforting hand on his back and offers him a glass of cloudy substance.

“It’s poppy-infused for the pain,” she supplies blankly, patiently allowing him to empty the glass without a word.

Byleth had always been a girl of few words and even fewer expressions. She had come quietly with a band of mercenaries that King Lambert hired and somehow found herself integrating with the other knights of Faerghus. The other knights immediately found her strange and perhaps even unnerving, what with a title like the Ashen Demon. They thought her heartless and unfeeling, but Glenn knew different. He didn’t at first, though he supposed he didn’t care back then. He was just excited to finally have a sparring partner worth his time and mettle. However, the longer they spent together, he noticed what she didn’t say in words or expressions, she made up for in actions. She spoiled Felix, Dimitri, Ingrid, and even a flirtatious Sylvain with treats and their favorite teas using her sparse savings. She made a point to converse with everyone in the palace including the guards and servants. She always patiently complied to his many requests to train or travel down to the market on their off days, eventually building a sort of camaraderie that he lacked even with his fellow knights. They were thick as thieves, becoming inseparable, perhaps partially due to their own self-imposed isolation. In the end, she was also the one to save his life when his body could give no more and stay by his side until he awoke. Not even his father could pry himself away from the prince to do so.

“You know,” he begins as the medication starts to seep in, making him drowsy once more, “House Fraldarius has an old saying.  _ ‘If you don’t come back beside your king, don’t come back at all.’  _ I wonder if my father would have preferred that I had died an honorable death on the battlefield than returning home crippled, rebellious, and useless.”

“Your father has hardly slept and has been pacing outside both Dimitri’s door and the infirmary for the past four days like a spector. He may not say it, you may not even see it, but he does care. You may not agree with him, but he’s only trying to do right by you with what viable options he has.”

Glenn snorted inelegantly, covering up how deep her words actually cut into him. “Of course. So you agree with him then? I must look pathetic to you; a one armed man who desperately wants to play at being a knight.”

She stared at him for a long moment before finally huffing. “You  _ are _ a knight, Glenn. The way I see it, your career isn’t over even though others say it is. After all, you didn’t lose  _ both _ arms.”

Byleth stood up then and retrieved a box from under the bed, placing it on his lap. “I was going to give this to you before our band was to depart as a gift for both your kindness to me during these past few months as well as your friendship. I suppose now is as good a time as any. From what I’ve heard, daggers are common gifts in the Kingdom.” He was eventually able to pry the lid off with one hand to reveal a silver dagger. It wasn’t safely dulled, ornate, or ostentatious like many gifted daggers he had seen before, but it was practical, newly sharpened, and well balanced. In short, it was made to be deadly. Gingerly, he picked it up as if it too would reject him. “Daggers are meant as a metaphor for cutting your own path. Your father seems so certain of your fate, but perhaps it's time to cut your own path instead of letting it be dictated by others.”

Ever eager, he tested the weight and balance of the blade in his non-dominant hand. Despite being unused to wielding a weapon in his left hand, the dagger had a comfortable weight to it without adding too much strain to his wrist. It would take a lot of training to wield a sword again, but daggers would be a good place to start.

As if reading his thoughts, Byleth continued. “A sword or lance may be too strenuous to start out with, so I figured a dagger would be a good starting point.”

He sits there for a moment, seemingly studying the dagger in his hand, but his mind is elsewhere even as it begins to slow with the haze of sleep. If he were to continue on as a knight, it will be a long, arduous road ahead of him… and all that he knows is that he wants to walk that path with her.

“I suppose this is your way of saying goodbye then? When do you and your father leave?” he asks, though the question sounds distant to his ears. 

“We leave tomorrow evening,” she answers, seemingly just as dejected as he feels, “I am glad that you had finally aroused before then so that we could have a proper goodbye, but it somehow doesn’t feel right to leave like this.”

“Then stay!” he blurts before he could stop himself, startling Byleth. He blames the poppies for his reckless tongue, but he doesn’t find the words untrue. “You know that with the proper training, you would be knighted. Dimitri would do it in a heartbeat.”

She looks at him but closes her eyes and shakes her head solemnly. She was always much more mature and wise than those their age, including himself. She was the voice of reason, but at this point, Glenn was beyond the point of reasoning. “Honestly, it’s still a big adjustment to be here. I’ve always lived on the road. I’m not used to the gilded halls, nightly feasts, and the etiquette of high society. I’m still getting used to the concept of crests and religion myself. Besides, they look at me strangely.”

“Who?” he bites. Who dares?

“Everyone,” Byleth answers simply, as if it were a mere fact of life, “don’t be offended for my sake, it isn’t anything new. I don’t think I will ever fit in. Not here.”

“You fit beside me on the battlefield,” he objects desperately now despite the growing drowsiness, once again startling her with his outburst, “fighting beside you feels right and I would not be alive today if it weren’t for you. We are comrades in arms. I would rather have you than anyone else in this castle watching my back.”

She gives him a small, fleeting smile then - a rarity in and of itself but he was proud of the fact that he was the one to make her smile. “I never really had a friend before. For the longest time, I even wondered if what we were could even be considered friends since I had no prior knowledge to go off of. I know now that you were my first, and I’ll always treasure that.”

“But…?” he asks as he struggles to stay awake, his eyes heavy from the medication. He damns it all, more willing to endure the pain if it meant spending more time with her before her inevitable departure. Byleth’s hand in his hair doesn’t make staying awake much easier.

“But I don’t belong here. I never did Glenn. You do though, so don’t let anyone take that spot away from you.”

“You know I won’t,” he finally relents with a sigh, unable to fight off sleep any longer, “but I wouldn’t mind if you were to walk this new path with me... I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. Stay with me?”

“I will,” she promises, as she brushes his hair back. The feeling of her hands is the last thing he recalls before succumbing to sleep.

——

When he wakes, the room is painted red and he is instantly reminded of blood and death. His pounding heart calms though as he realizes that it is just the setting sun reflecting off the stark white walls. He panics again as he realizes Byleth is no longer beside him and that he must have slept past her departure. 

He throws the blankets off and tries to stand, only to fall from being bed ridden and starved for so long. The healers all shout in protest, but he is a man on a mission. He tears out of the infirmary as if death itself were on his heels, scaring servants and nobles alike as he sprints down the corridors barefoot and with only one arm. He reaches the south balcony and catches himself on the railing. In the distance, he sees the familiar caravan heading off towards the bleeding horizon. 

His fingernails dig into the granite railing before he pounds a single first against it with a frustrated cry. “ _Damnit!”_

_ She’s gone. She’s not coming back. Why would she ever choose you when you don’t even have enough of a spine to choose her? _

“Glenn?” a familiar voice questions. 

He spins around, almost certain that he’s hallucinating now, but there she is. Without a thought, he throws his arm around her and squeezes even when his body protests in pain.

“Glenn!” she admonishes, shocked by his unusual behavior. “What are you doing out of bed? The healers had you on strict bed rest.”

“I thought you left without saying goodbye,” he murmurs against her shoulder. He pulls away then, confused. “What are you doing here? Where’s Jeralt?”

“He’s with the caravan. I’m staying here to train as a knight.”

“You- you what?” he asks, completely floored by everything that he’s hearing.

She has the decency to look at least a little sheepish by looking away. “It was my father’s idea actually. I never cared that we were always on the road, but I think he wanted something stable for me to keep me grounded. They will be back next spring once the snow has melted. I think his blessing was really the final push I needed though.”

He doesn’t question it. His mind is too preoccupied with the endless possibilities their future may hold. Perhaps with her at his side, they can cut a path to a brighter future together.

“Train with me,” he blurts unceremoniously before backtracking and blushing profusely, “I mean, you will need to train to be certified as a knight, and I need to start training with the use of my left hand. The sooner the better.”

Her blank mask almost cracks as she holds back a chuckle. “You always have swords on your mind. Maybe after you’ve recovered first. Speaking of which, you better head back to the infirmary.”

He sighs tiredly, the adrenaline wearing off now and the pains and aches returning anew. “Can’t were just stay like this?”

She can’t decide whether to be amused or exasperated by his unusual antics. “You sure are acting weird today.”

He merely grins and offers her his hand. “Walk with me?”

“I will,” she promises. She reaches for his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a little plot bunny and it’s here because I adore Glenn despite us never seeing him EVER :) Not enough Glenn stories let me tell you. I might turn this into a series of short one-shots since I do have some plot points in mind going forward for this story. I am, however, super busy and just as lazy as Hilda so we’ll see!


End file.
